I was crying. I walked along the waterside and watched the water slop against the concrete shore of Lake Lucerne. Mount Pilatus towered over the city from the distance, collecting the only clouds in the clear sky around its summit. Sailboats bobbed out in the open water, their mainsails reaching up into a point from the boom. From a distance, they looked like fins of giant sharks lurking below the surface. There were other boats too, some tied in at the lakeside, and one rowing boat, Julia, letters fading from the wet wood. She was rotten through to her hull.<\/p>\n
I found a pub on the waterfront, just along from the rowing boats. The sign was green and white \u2013 The Shamrock. I walked in and heads turned to inspect me. The Undertones blared out from a plastic jukebox in the far corner; Teenage Kicks. Four leaf clovers plastered the brown walls, muscling for attention over the white, green and orange flags. You could travel the world over and still wind up in an Irish bar<\/p>\n
The locals stared. I was the tourist, eyes glazed with tears. They were all sitting on stools around the bar, ladies swirling red wine in bowl-sized glasses, men with Guinness.<\/p>\n
A fat man pulled out an empty stool for me. I threw my rucksack down and took a seat next to him. Shirt sleeves rolled up, his forearms were splattered with mud.<\/p>\n
\u201cChristoph,\u201d he said, stretching out a large, worn hand. As he spoke I watched his chin move. It was dotted with prickly hairs, like a raspberry.<\/p>\n
\u201cJohn.\u201d<\/p>\n
He had the sort of handshake that made everything seem fine. Christoph nodded to the barman and a Guinness appeared. It didn’t seem there was a choice.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat brings you to Lucerne, John?\u201d A half-crescent of froth lined his top lip. The foam gushed to the bottom of my pint in an avalanche, settled, turned black.<\/p>\n
I glugged down half of it and placed the glass back down on the bar.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy girlfriend. I came here to meet her, to travel for the month.\u201d I drained the remainder of my drink.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, super! And she is coming?\u201d Christoph swiped the cream from his upper lip.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe doesn’t want to see me.\u201d I could feel the foam bubbling up at the back of my throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you don’t travel?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe changed her mind. I’ll go back to England tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
The barman placed a full pint at my fingertips.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can go alone, no?\u201d Christoph patted me hard on the back with his big hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s a bad start, getting dumped on day one.\u201d<\/p>\n
Christoph said, \u201cThen it can only be better,\u201d laughing from his belly. His gut was pregnant; swollen into a perfect globe. I could imagine peeling up his shirt and finding it decorated with a map of the world. \u201cWhy go home now?\u201d<\/p>\n
#<\/p>\n
I spent the evening at the pub with Christoph and his wife, Diana. They told me about their farm, high on the hillside on the way out to Pilatus, about how their children all left Lucerne, about their cows and sheep. We played darts and Christoph spoke of his passion for Guinness.<\/p>\n
\u201cI could have it with my breakfast cereal,\u201d he said. \u201cIf she would let me.\u201d He nudged Diana. She was markedly slim in comparison to her husband, but didn’t seem to mind his figure. Long blonde hair fell over her shoulder, fading grey, but she was still young in the face. In her day, she was probably the most beautiful girl in the town.<\/p>\n
The bell jangled for last orders.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome and stay,\u201d Christoph said, placing his hand on my arm. \u201cHelp me on the farm tomorrow. Stay as long as you like. Share our bread.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI would,\u201d I said, \u201cBut I’ve booked the night at a hotel.\u201d I hadn’t.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh.\u201d Christoph’s face dropped.<\/p>\n
\u201cTomorrow?\u201d Diana said. She didn’t say much.<\/p>\n
Christoph cheered. \u201cYes! I’ll meet you here, at eight thirty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the morning?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course in the morning,\u201d Christoph said.<\/p>\n
I worried what they wanted me for.
\n
\n#<\/p>\n
I left The Shamrock and walked out along the docks. Caught between the mountains and the city, I stopped. I don’t know why I didn’t go with Christoph that evening. Part of me was scared that he would persuade me to travel alone. I stood by the lakeside, looking at the view I’d shared with Eva the summer before. The moon was full; a silver medal suspended in the sky, beyond the reach of even Pilatus and Rigi. I looked out, head spinning and eyelids fleshy, heavy, wanting to close. The streetlights cast long flames on the surface water, and the white gable houses lit up the waterside like a furnace.<\/p>\n
The rowing boat, Julia, was still tied up to a horn cleat. It could have been there for years, untouched. Parts of the rib had cracked away, and rust had grown thick over the rowlocks. Chucking my bag in first, I made camp for the night on the bottom boards. Silhouetted against the evening glow of the city, the high-rise apartment blocks hung in the night air like rectangular planets. I laid down on my back. I could hear fish making knife-breaks in the cool water, in lullaby. If Eva had been there she would have pressed her icy fingertips into my armpit for warmth. I wasn’t cold. The sun had only been down a few hours. Beyond the bare mast of the boat, the distant silhouette of Mount Pilatus kissed the stars in the blackness.<\/p>\n
#
\nI hadn’t seen Eva in ten months.<\/p>\n
I lived near Oxford and worked at a shoe shop in the covered market. Eva lived in Lucerne, working at a recycling factory just outside of Zurich. She was responsible for picking out plastic, metal and paper, separating it all \u2013 saving the world.<\/p>\n
\u201cRecycling one tin can produces enough energy to listen to a whole album,\u201d she said, out on the shore of Lake Lucerne, one evening last summer. \u201cThink of how many tin cans one person uses a year. If everyone recycled their cans, think how much we would reduce the carbon footprint.\u201d Eva believed the solution to all the world’s problems could be found in tin cans and compost heaps.<\/p>\n
I wanted to spend the summer talking about how much our sex had improved, or tell her the story about my lecturer who dropped dead at the photocopier. But it never happened. It was all electric bicycles and offshore wind farms; reduce, reuse, recycle.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know how to significantly reduce the carbon footprint,\u201d I said, stretching an arm around her square shoulders, leaning in until our noses touched. \u201cCarbon tip-toe.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pushed me off.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou’re an idiot, JJ.\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite that, Eva wanted to travel around Europe with me, see it all. Leave from Lucerne in June, and whip down through Italy and the Amalfi coast, across to Croatia and sail along the Dalmatian, to travel a loop around Europe.<\/p>\n
But when the carriage doors opened, no Eva.<\/p>\n
\u201cI sent an e-mail,\u201d she said on the phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat e-mail?\u201d I said, outside the train station in Lucerne, bagged down with my new rucksack \u2013 pots and pans jangling from the back. I looked like a one-man band.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s been 10 months, Jonny. I feel like I’ve been in a relationship with my iPhone. We knew the distance would be difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n
A conveyor belt rumbled. I could picture her still leafing through the rubbish as she jammed the phone between her ear and shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could have fucking mentioned it, Eva,\u201d I said. \u201cMaybe before I bought a month-long train ticket.\u201d<\/p>\n
She didn’t say anything.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you’ve bought your ticket, too.\u201d
\n\u201cI didn’t buy a ticket, Jonny. It says it all in the e-mail.\u201d<\/p>\n
I could hear the sound of tin cans crumpling beneath the weight of an industrial crusher.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m sorry,\u201d she continued, shouting over the machinery. \u201cCheck your inbox. Maybe the e-mail was accidentally directed to your spam.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tin cans crushed and baled.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I stay the night? Seeing as I’m here.\u201d<\/p>\n
She had already hung up.
\n
\n#<\/p>\n
I woke up with wet feet. I didn’t realise there was a long, thin crack in one of the bottom boards, allowing water to dribble into the hull. I got out and sat down at the waterside, watching the sun climb to the summit of Rigi. The outline of the mountains glowed like gold veins pumping through the skyline.<\/p>\n
Christoph came early. I was thankful. I needed a meal and shower. He drove us up to his farm, half an hour south from the city near to Alpnach, at the foot of Pilatus. The car rumbled through the hillside. Swiss pines lined the roadside in regiment, upright, like soldiers.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look tired, John,\u201d Christoph said. \u201cDid you party all night?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHotel wasn’t much good,\u201d I said. \u201cDamp.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can sleep for an hour. But my cow, she will give birth this afternoon. I want you to be there.\u201d
\nI’d never seen anything give birth before.<\/p>\n
#<\/p>\n
We arrived after half an hour. Their house, a chalet with a gabled roof and wide eaves, looked out over the lake. Christoph ran out to check on his heifer.<\/p>\n
Diana showed me to their spare bedroom. She was wearing a mucky jumper, a cream knit with chocolate icing smeared on her breast. As I showered I could smell cakes baking. When I went back into the bedroom, Diana was cranking the Venetian blinds, locking out all light. I laid down on the bed, and fell asleep within minutes.<\/p>\n
#<\/p>\n
An hour later, I woke up with Christoph shaking me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s time,\u201d he said. \u201cShe’s almost ready.\u201d<\/p>\n
I had no idea what he was talking about.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on. You can’t miss it.\u201d He handed me a small plate with a thick slice of double-layered chocolate cake, and a glass of milk. \u201cI’ll be in the barn.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stuffed the cake into my mouth, swilling the chocolate pieces around with the creamy milk. I walked through a corridor lined with old family photos. Christoph hadn’t always been so fat. One picture showed him and Diana with their two boys out by the lake. Christoph’s shoulders were twice as broad as his hips, his stomach flat, legs thick and brown and barbed with hair. He stood proud in swim briefs. Diana was covered up; hat, sunglasses, skirt and blouse.<\/p>\n
I went out to the barn. The cow was sectioned off in a pen, standing up, but covered in mud and dust and straw. Two hooves were emerging from her vagina, and a thick string of mucus dangled from her vulva.<\/p>\n
I’d never seen a cow’s vagina. It bagged up, crinkled; ready to shit out a new life. It was one of the most hideous things I’d ever seen.<\/p>\n
\u201cIsn’t it beautiful?\u201d Christoph whispered.<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou might have to help me ease her out,\u201d Christoph said, examining her backside. \u201cIf she struggles, we pull the calf from the hooves.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can’t do that,\u201d I said. I didn\u2019t think I was scared of animals. But there’s something alien about livestock \u2013 you only ever see them on TV or in children’s books or in your dinner.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure you can,\u201d he said. \u201cYou can’t be so negative, John. She will know.\u201d
\nThe cow mooed.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what do we do now?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe wait for her. She won’t be long.\u201d Christoph moved to the corner of the barn and showed me a large black tub full of what looked like rotten grass. \u201cThis is silage. A cow’s dinner. How does it smell, to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRural,\u201d I said, and took a seat on a small wooden stool, behind the cow. Christoph laughed, and joined me.<\/p>\n
\u201cA few years ago, we had a terrible time with the cows,\u201d he said. \u201cEverything was normal, the calves were coming strong, we were doing so well. I was even going to build a second barn. But one day they just started disappearing. One here, one there. We didn’t know what was going on.\u201d
\n
\nI picked up some straw, ripped it up, sprinkled it to the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cI searched for hours, Diana too. We lost ten in one week. We thought someone was stealing them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho was it?\u201d<\/p>\n
The cow shuffled her hind legs, grunting.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt wasn’t anyone,\u201d he said. \u201cThey were committing suicide.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed. The cow’s ears flopped down over her head. There was something deliberate about her posture. Her front legs were slightly cocked, like the hands of a magazine model posing nude.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m not joking. They were jumping off the cliff, just down from here. I didn’t understand. I found them finally, as I walked along the cliff’s edge. I looked down and there they were, piled up in the valley. They’d all jumped off at the same spot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCows can’t jump,\u201d I said. \u201cIt must have been an accident. They must have strayed too far.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnce is an accident,\u201d he said. \u201cThere were twelve cows down there.\u201d He looked troubled by the memory.
\nI said, \u201cAnimals aren’t capable of suicide.\u201d I thought how common a sight it is to see cows out grazing on the green plateaus in the Alps. They don’t just fall off cliff edges. Not that many.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt must have been something I had done. They felt like slaves or prisoners or something, having me lock them up in a cowshed. They hated me. They would rather throw themselves off a cliff than be around me any longer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m sure that’s not the case,\u201d I said. \u201cCows can’t hate.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don’t know much about cows, John.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shrugged.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo did you fence in the suicide spot?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no. I thought about it,\u201d he said. \u201cBut then I thought if they want to die, they’ll find a way.\u201d
\nI couldn’t think of any other way a cow could kill itself.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I started sleeping out here with them, and eating my dinner with them, to show them I was a friend. One of them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did Diana think?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe wasn’t happy. I thought we might be divorced. She said I had lost my mind, I was paranoid, obsessed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
Christoph spread his palm in front of him and thumbed the golden callouses at the bottom of each finger. They were rough, worn, useful hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey stopped jumping. I still sleep out here once a week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat must be difficult,\u201d I said. \u201cEven in winter?\u201d<\/p>\n
Cracks of daylight shot through the wooden panels of the barn. It would have been hell in winter.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d he said. \u201cThat’s why I drink so much Guinness.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about how cold I had been the previous night, in midsummer, after several pints. He must have had to get through a whole keg.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think it’s time to get her out, John. Are you ready?\u201d Christoph rubbed his palms together. I felt queasy. The silage had a smell that reached down my throat and hooked at my stomach.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I have to do?\u201d<\/p>\n
Christoph attached a set of calving chains to the protruding hooves \u2013 making a loop around the fetlock, and another just below the knee.<\/p>\n
\u201cPull when I say. Easy! We pull out and down when she is straining, and try to ease her out when she isn’t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight.\u201d I still had no idea what to do.<\/p>\n
Christoph double-checked the chains and we took one each. The heifer groaned. It resonated around the barn, the whole landscape must have heard. We tugged at the chains.<\/p>\n
\u201cMore!\u201d Christoph urged.<\/p>\n
I braced my knees and squatted, putting all my weight through the chain. I imagined the calf curled up in the foetal position, rolled into a ball with its head jutting out, hooves tucked beneath its chin, preparing to emerge into the mountain air. It wouldn’t budge. It was a tug of war; two men losing against an unborn calf.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s not moving,\u201d I said, chains cold and breaking the skin on my palms.<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up, and pull,\u201d he said, grunting as his top lip curled onto his gums.<\/p>\n
We heaved harder, urging the calf out. For the amount of force we were putting through the thing, I would have expected it to catapult out and splat on the wall.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere she comes,\u201d Christoph said.<\/p>\n
The head popped into view. The amniotic sac covered its face. Its head stretched the heifer’s vagina to the point that it might split.<\/p>\n
From there, it didn’t take much to get her out. The chains jangled and fell slack as the calf slipped out from its mother and onto the floor. Its black skin was shiny, leathery, covered in gunk. Christoph quickly punctured the sac and ripped it away. A rush of afterbirth spilled out after it, landing in a steaming pile. I dropped the chain, inspecting the blisters on my palms. The mother soon shuffled to her feet, licked the newborn, cleaning the fluid away with her pink tongue. Christoph hugged me.<\/p>\n
The calf strained, trying to stand. I watched it use all of its force, willing its legs to work, trying to prop itself up and take its first feed. It was soon on its hind legs, but not quite strong enough to be completely free standing. It was doubled over, resting its weight on its knees.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can name her, if you like,\u201d Christoph said.<\/p>\n
Flies fizzed around the afterbirth. The calf wobbled over to its mother, nuzzling into its teat. She was on all fours, fully fledged, tottering around on her new legs. I remembered a fact Eva had told me once, about cows emitting enough methane to damage the ozone layer. I wasn’t even sure if that was true.<\/p>\n
\u201cCall her Eva.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n#<\/p>\n
We washed up in the house. I had another shower and scrubbed the slime and hay and stink from my skin. I pulled my telephone out from my bag and called Eva. I didn’t know what I wanted to say to her. I just wanted her to hear my voice and to hear hers, and to feel like everything was going to be okay.<\/p>\n
I pressed the phone to my ear. Diana was chopping vegetables in the kitchen. The knife thudded against the wooden board between each ring in the receiver. She didn’t answer.<\/p>\n
I stuffed the phone back into my bag, got dressed and joined Diana in the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u201cHungry?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I was starving, but having only recently pulled a calf out of a cow’s vagina, I didn’t feel too peckish.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can have chicken and potatoes, later.\u201d She wore a blue and white apron tied closely around her neat little waist. \u201cFor now, I can poach some eggs?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds amazing, Diana. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Diana clinked a pan full of water onto the hob and flicked the gas on. Christoph returned from cleaning up, but in the same clothes.<\/p>\n
\u201cChicken?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Diana smiled, \u201cYes, chicken. Always chicken for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank God for chicken!\u201d Christoph said, holding the raw bird aloft in two hands. He was like a kid after eating a bag of sweets. \u201cDo you believe in God, John?\u201d<\/p>\n
His serious tone jarred with the uncooked chicken in his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cPut it down, Christoph,\u201d Diana said. He dropped the chicken down on the counter, kissing his wife on the forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’d like to,\u201d I said, wondering if it was a trick question.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell we have to baptise Eva tonight.\u201d Christoph shuffled onto a kitchen counter, letting his legs dangle on the cupboards.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou baptise the calves?\u201d<\/p>\n
Christoph jumped down from the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, all of them. I began baptising them when they started jumping.\u201d A ginger tomcat pattered into the kitchen, collar bell tinkling. Christoph scooped it up in his arms and scratched its chin. It purred. \u201cAre you not baptised, John?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I was, as a baby.\u201d You’re stuck with faith the same as cancer or dementia. It’s all out of your control.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what about now? If you could be without religion, you would be?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat’s a decision I don’t need to make,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Christoph kissed the cat on the nose.<\/p>\n
\u201cDiana, tell John your story.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat’s this?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy wife has proof of God,\u201d he said. \u201cSomething that happened to her, years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChristoph,\u201d she said. \u201cYou know I don’t like to tell this story.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease.\u201d Christoph dropped the cat and pulled a chair out for Diana.<\/p>\n
She picked a plate from the drying rack and put it away in a cupboard.<\/p>\n
\u201cDiana,\u201d Christoph urged.<\/p>\n
Diana picked a broom from the corner and swept crumbs into a neat pile by the door. She ignored him.
\n\u201cI don’t want to speak of it,\u201d she said. \u201cI hate remembering.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s a very troubling story,\u201d Christoph whispered to me. \u201cIt’s a special story, Diana. I promise I won’t ask you to tell it ever again, just tell John what happened. I’ve made him curious now.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was curious. Once there’s something to be known it’s unbearable to go without knowing it. Diana stopped sweeping. She had her back to us, facing the door. After a moment, she untied her apron, hanging it on the back of the door, then joined us at the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is not an easy story for me to tell,\u201d Diana said. \u201cBut it is true, every word. So please, don’t question it. I cannot explain it, but it happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. Christoph nodded.<\/p>\n
Diana licked her finger and dabbed at tiny crumbs on the tabletop.<\/p>\n
\u201cI visited London,\u201d she began. \u201cYears ago. I stayed with my cousin, in Clapham. One evening it was late, and very dark, I was lost. I was alone, completely alone. Just me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
She looked confused at why I had spoken.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know Clapham.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe only way I knew to get home was through a dark alleyway, a tunnel. There was a man there. A big man, alone, right in the middle. He was waiting there. I thought about it a while, about whether I should do this or not. I thought I could pretend to be on the telephone, but he would know. I thought something bad would happen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell him what you did, Diana!\u201d Christoph clapped his hands in anticipation. It didn’t seem to matter that he had probably heard the story a dozen times before.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said a prayer. A few words, for protection, safe passage. And I walked through the tunnel.\u201d<\/p>\n
The water bubbled up to the brim of the saucepan.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was fine, I walked through past the man and nothing happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
The tomcat jumped up onto the counter, sniffing around for something to eat.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut that’s not it,\u201d Christoph said. \u201cTell him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGive me a chance,\u201d said Diana. \u201cI was called to give evidence, soon after that night, as it turned out that man did attack a woman. He raped her.\u201d She paused. Christoph squeezed her hand. \u201cRight there, he did it. The place where I passed through just fine.\u201d She locked her fingers together.<\/p>\n
I was silent. Hairs on my back prickled up like pine needles. \u201cDo you believe the prayer protected you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Diana ignored me. She didn\u2019t look at me or Christoph. She just stared into the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn court, I saw him, the same man, on trial, I knew his face. He was charged with rape and faced 5 years in prison.\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s all he got?\u201d I said. I wasn’t sure if either of them heard me.
\n\u201cWhen I gave my evidence, my statement, about when I was there, and was it him I recognised, the judge asked him why he didn’t attack me, why I wasn’t the victim \u2013 something I had been thinking about ever since I heard the news.\u201d Tears lingered on her cheeks.<\/p>\n
The water spilled over the saucepan, bubbling and evaporating over the edge into hot air. Christoph jumped up and reduced the gas, bridging a wooden spoon across the saucepan.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou’ll never guess what he said.\u201d Christoph picked up the cat and cradled it like a babe.
\n\u201cHe said, ‘Why would I attack her, when she was walking with two big men?’\u201d
\n\u201cBut she was alone that night, completely.
\n<\/p>\n
#<\/p>\n
That evening, Christoph, Diana and myself went out to the barn and baptised the calf. Christoph lit candles in jam jars and hung multi-coloured bunting along the wooden beams. Diana and I watched as Christoph patted the calf on its head.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe are gathered here today to baptise this child,\u201d Christoph began. \u201cAnd to recognise that she is the child of God.\u201d
\n\u201cIs it always like this?\u201d I whispered to Diana.
\n\u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
Christoph held the calf’s face between his hands and kissed its head.<\/p>\n
\u201cWater is used in this ceremony to symbolize the water of life,\u201d he continued. \u201cLet us remember that the water used in this baptism is the symbol of immersion in the life of God. The life of God surrounds us, fills us, and flows through us, as us.\u201d He signalled to Diana.<\/p>\n
She handed me her candle and picked up the red bucket, then poured some water over the calf’s head. The calf jolted and tried to squirm out of Christoph’s grasp, but he held on to the animal tight, dipped his index finger in the remaining water, and marked out a cross on the calf’s head.<\/p>\n
\u201cBaptism marks the beginning of a journey with God which continues for the rest of our lives,\u201d he said. \u201cLet this be the beginning of our journey with Eva.\u201d<\/p>\n
The candles flickered around the barn. I walked outside with Diana while Christoph tended to the calf. The hillside was in darkness, the distant lights of Lucerne fizzled out one by one like the flames of matchsticks pinched out by fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cHas he always been so religious?\u201d I asked her.<\/p>\n
We were standing a little way down from the barn. Below us, telegraph poles punctuated the shoreline, connecting a wire all the way around the hillside and down into the basin, to Lucerne. Down on the lake, all of the sailboats were tied up at shore. The empty tongue of water stretched between the dark mountains, and along through the valley.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was nothing,\u201d she said. \u201cHe used to drive the calves down to the lake and baptise them in the water.\u201d A few more lights flicked off in the town. \u201cIt was all after I told him about what happened in London. He was never a believer in anything before that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe’s very content with his beliefs,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said. \u201cA calf was born on Christmas day a few years ago. He called her Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n
It didn’t matter that it was a girl then. You could punch him in the face and he’d be convinced it was a message from God.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell it’s amazing, what happened to you,\u201d I said. And then, \u201cI’m sorry. I didn’t mean amazing, just unlikely.\u201d
\n\u201cDo you think you will sort things, with your girlfriend?\u201d she said.
\n\u201cI hope so,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cI think you would do better to travel alone. Women are nothing but trouble.\u201d She laughed. In the darkness I couldn’t see the creases around her eyes and mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t know. I want to see Eva,\u201d I said. \u201cEven though it would be good to just forget about her.\u201d
\n\u201cEva? Do you not like cows?\u201d Diana asked.
\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d I said. \u201cEva is the name of my girlfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought we had something in common.\u201d<\/p>\n
Christoph wandered out from the barn.<\/p>\n
\u201cJohn,\u201d he called. \u201cI’m going to have one beer before I go to bed, if you would like to?\u201d
\n\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cI would.\u201d<\/p>\n
He walked back into the house. Diana and I stayed outside.<\/p>\n
After a minute, Diana said, \u201cSo what happened with Eva? Why did you break up?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said it’s because we are so far from each other.\u201d
\n\u201cBut you are here now,\u201d Diana said.
\n\u201cI know,\u201d I said. \u201cWomen are nothing but trouble.\u201d
\n\u201cSome things just can’t be explained.\u201d Diana stroked the hair on the back of my head. I felt like a six year old boy again.
\n\u201cWill you go to see her?\u201d
\n\u201cI might do, tomorrow. To say goodbye.\u201d
\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d she said, her hand moving away from my hair and resting on my shoulder. \u201cOf course, she won’t want you if you chase her.\u201d
\n\u201cNo?\u201d
\n\u201cIf you want her to want you, you have to make it very clear that you don’t want her. So you should probably get as far away from her as possible.\u201d<\/p>\n
We both laughed. The ginger cat rubbed its head against my leg, pacing a figure of 8 between my legs.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you to know something, John.\u201d<\/p>\n
The pine trees along the hillside shivered in the breeze. The picket fence away to the left of the farm rattled as loose barbed wire clinked on the metal gate. The cat ran away.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d I asked.
\n\u201cYou cannot tell a soul,\u201d she began, pausing to lock her arms across her chest. \u201cI mean that. I have never told anyone this. Especially Christoph.\u201d
\n\u201cOf course, Diana.\u201d
\n\u201cI just have to tell someone.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d I asked.
\n\u201cWhat I told you about the alleyway in London, about how I prayed to God to protect me,\u201d she paused. Her eyes weren’t looking at me anymore; she was staring out at the lake, into the starless sky. \u201cI made it up, John,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Silent tears streaked down her cheeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cTo protect Christoph.\u201d
\n\u201cFrom what?\u201d I asked. She moved closer to me, wrapping her fingers around my forearm. Her wedding ring pressed cold against my skin.
\n\u201cIt was me,\u201d she said. \u201cI was attacked.\u201d She buried her head into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her.
\n\u201cIt’s okay,\u201d I said, as you do when the worst things happen.<\/p>\n
As I held her, I watched more and more lights go out in the distance. One light glowed brighter than any other. I looked at it for too long, wondering what it could be illuminating. I drew my eyes away from it, burying my nose and face into Diana’s hair. It smelt of vanilla and almonds. The glare had made an impression on my sight. It fogged my vision. I rubbed my eyelids with my fingertips, trying to make it go away. I could still see it behind my eyelids when I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
I could see it when it wasn’t there.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Candles in the Sky I was crying. I walked along the waterside and watched the water slop against the concrete shore of Lake Lucerne. Mount Pilatus towered over the city from the distance, collecting the only clouds in the clear sky around its summit. Sailboats bobbed out in the open […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2709,"parent":148,"menu_order":3,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-586","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/586","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=586"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/586\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2678,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/586\/revisions\/2678"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/148"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2709"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue19\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=586"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}